Chapter 4
MAISEY
Booby Trap.
The massive wood-burned sign stares back at me, damn proud of itself, if I do say so myself, and I can’t help but smile. It’s one thing to know that someone went and did something, but it’s another thing to actually see it with your own eyes.
And I’ll be, Ewan Hayes really did take Knox County Bait and Tackle and rename it to The Booby Trap. Fuck, I would have loved to have seen the looks on the old-timers’ faces when he did that. My Aunt Hattie must have had a fit.
I kill the ignition, the hum of my rental car’s engine quieting, as I reach for my phone, rereading my text thread with Emily for the 9413th time to verify that Ewan still likes his burgers the same way he did before.
Burger order is still medium with cheddar, horseradish, tomato, and onion, right?
Emily
that’s what he ordered last week, so unless he’s changed his mind since then
and you’re sure there’s nothing between y’all? I’m not stepping on toes? Because he acted kinda weird when I cut in…
I’m sure.
weird how? Y’all were adorable together on that dance floor.
When I told him I wanted to catch up he got squirrelly and basically did an about-face
ha, Mais, if anyone knows better, it should be you. You can’t just ambush Ewan like that. You have to ease him into talking.
Ha.
That’s the thing—maybe Emily and others have to ease Ewan into talking, but I never did.
That was always the beauty of who we were.
I was the one person on this earth who could ambush him.
There was no “hello” or “what’s up” to start a conversation with us.
Because everything was a continuation of one great big conversation that went in a million different directions and could tangent and pivot at any moment. With me doing most of the talking.
No part of me expected that to have changed. I figured we’d pick up exactly where we left off when I moved away. Guess not.
Or well, not yet.
Food solves everything though.
Gathering the to-go containers, I pile out of the car and climb the wooden steps onto the front porch of the old bait and tackle shop.
Originally built in the 1940s as a hunting cabin, Bryon Jennings bought it in the sixties, converting it into Knox County Bait and Tackle.
The store always did well—with Silver Lake right in town and the Flint River not far, fishing has always been a big part of the community.
“Alright, here goes,” I mutter to myself, flinging the door open.
A bell overhead tinkles, announcing my arrival, and Dennis Williams looks up from the lure he’s tying, cocking his head to the side, as if he isn’t sure whether he should greet me or usher me back out the door.
I smile politely, not sure if he’ll remember me—this was his retirement gig when we were in high school, and he certainly hasn’t gotten any younger.
“He’s around the corner, doin’ inventory in the archery section of the addition, Miss Maisey,” Dennis says, nodding his head toward a door in the back right corner of the store.
“Addition?”
Dennis nods. “Yup. Take a look-see. Think you’ll like it.”
I wander farther inside, my eyes scanning over the store.
It looks different—fresher—than it did when it was Knox County Bait and Tackle.
Whatever changes Ewan has made have certainly breathed fresh air into the place.
Walking through here, though, feels oddly…
familiar. Like I’ve been here. Which, I have, but I haven’t. Not in this layout. Still, I know it.
Turning at the arrow that points me in the direction of the hunting section, I step into a large, open room with bright lights and open shelving. That’s when it hits me.
I know this layout.
Because I designed it.
This is exactly what I drew out on a set of napkins that night in Miami.
The Hayes rifles front and center—because this store is owned by a Hayes after all—with the safety gear on the opposite wall.
Archery has its own section in the back, and I would bet my life had I followed the stairs in the original part of the lodge, it would have taken me to an entire camping and “wilderness enjoyment” display.
My insides clench, my head spinning in one direction as my thoughts whir in another, giddy little butterflies taking flight in my chest. Ewan followed our plan. There’s a chance that maybe—just maybe—he’s still open to this. To us.
That he could still choose me.
Despite what we said.
“Maisey.”
The deep rumble of Ewan’s voice knocks me from my trance, pulling me back into the moment.
At least until my eyes land on him. If I thought he looked good all dressed up in his tux, then I simply wasn’t prepared for everyday Ewan.
Dark jeans and tee with The Booby Trap logo—a simple font with bobbers for O’s—that fits him like a glove, clinging to his muscular frame, and a matching ballcap, making him look every inch the outdoorsman he is.
It’s nothing fancy—in fact if I were to guess, those jeans probably haven’t been washed in a month—yet it’s more than enough to stop me dead in my tracks and remind me of everything I’ve been missing.
Making me question why I left in the first place. What on earth possessed me to think there was anything outside of this town. Outside of him.
“Hi,” I squeak. “I-I brought lunch.”
Ewan stares at me, eyes flicking down to the Dolly’s bag in my hand then back up to me, but doesn’t respond. At least not verbally. His blue eyes are as expressive as ever, letting me in on exactly how he’s feeling and all the doubt that is flowing through him.
Meaning I will need to kickstart the conversation. Some things never change.
“I grabbed us burgers, but I went with chips instead of fries since I figured those travel better. I had Nico throw some in right before I left too, so they’re fresh.”
“Back for thirty-six hours and already have this town wrapped back around your little finger.” Ewan laughs, shaking his head and turning back to the box of arrows at his feet.
“Hey!” I put the to-go bag on the ground and march over to him, ready to defend myself. Until I see the trademark Hayes smirk on his face, my indignation lifting as I realize he’s teasing me. Doesn’t mean he’s getting off that easy. “Not my fault I’m loved and adored by all. They missed me.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“I will.” I cross my arms, and the move shifts my boobs up, catching Ewan’s eye.
Just as quickly, he looks away and I shift again, dropping my arms. That wasn’t what I was trying to do, and I don’t want him to think I’m throwing myself at him.
“More than that, when I mentioned to Dolly on Saturday that I was going to stay in town awhile, she asked if I’d be interested in helping at the diner this week while she’s away, so I was already there. ”
Ewan stands up straight, nearly knocking over a display of protective eyewear. At his full height, he towers over me by a good six or seven inches, my small stature never more on display than when we’re next to each other.
“You’re not headed back to…” he trails off, like he’s trying to think of what country I was in.
“Nicaragua. And no.” I swallow hard. “That contract ended. So, I’m here for a bit. Which works well, with the wedding and Grandma’s big birthday, and other things…”
“Other things,” he repeats. “You mean our pact.”
“Yeah.” I rock back on my heels. “The ketchup pact.”
“The ketchup pact?”
I giggle, unable to help myself. “That’s what I call it in my head. Since we swore our oath with ketchup, instead of blood.”
“Even then you were a contradiction. There was no containing your spirit, but still concerned about first aid safety.”
Neither of us speaks, his comment hanging in the air like a slowly deflating balloon, wafting in the awkward silence. I know he meant it as a compliment. But that doesn’t help me form a response. And the longer we go, the bigger the silence grows, the more damage I fear it’s going to do.
So I blurt out the first thing I can think of.
“Dolly also volunteered up her old apartment, which was super sweet of her, and works out perfect, because it means I’m not back with Mama and Daddy. Plus—”
“Why are you really back, Maisey?”
“What?”
I stumble, his question catching me so off guard I physically react, sending me in the direction of those arrows. I catch myself, thankfully before I make a mess of both myself and the store. This would not be the place to have an accident.
“Why, Mais?”
“We’re about to be thirty-four, and we’re single, so…” I suck in a breath. “I mean, you are single, right? I mean, Mama and Grandma were all titter-y about it, but Em said you two were just friends and—”
“We are.”
His face is solemn, solid, and other than crossing his arms, he hasn’t moved a muscle. The teasing smirk is gone, but all that doubt is still there in those eyes. Shit, I should have insisted he eat first. This would have been better over food.
“Are you saying you weren’t serious about that pact?” I ask, my heart starting to race.
I’m not sure I want the answer. Because I was. Always have been. Deep down, I always thought he was too. If he wasn’t—or worse, he changed his mind—I’m not sure that’s an answer I can handle.
“I was when we were thirteen. But those are things you say and don’t actually collect on.”
My resolve cracks. “We swore it in ketchup.”
“Mais,” he sighs, stepping in closer to me. “Tell me what’s going on. The truth. It might’ve been years since we’ve seen each other, but I can still read you, and you’re not telling me something. I can see it all over your face.”
Emotion rises in my throat, settling right at the base, threatening to choke me. At least it’s not tears. I’ve already shed more of those than I can count recently, and don’t think I can bear to shed anymore.
If there is anyone on this earth I could cry to, it’s Ewan. He’s my person. Or, he was. The one, single being on this planet who would understand. That I could fall apart to in this way. That I could share all my inner thoughts and feelings to without judgment.
I want to tell him so badly. I want to bare my soul and break down and be nothing but a puddle.
But I can’t. Something is still holding me back.
Maybe it’s the not knowing if he’s all in too; I don’t know.
Or maybe it’s simply having learned that I can’t be that person anymore.
Either way, some secrets aren’t meant for sharing.
“I told you.” I clear my throat, regaining my composure. “My current contract was canceled, so since I was in between contracts and with everything going on here, and us on the eve of the birthday we agreed on, it all seemed like kismet.”
Ewan steps back, closing his eyes, his lips pressing into a hard, thin line. And my heart rips in half.
I know that look.
That isn’t anger. It’s much worse. It’s hurt. Pain. A straight shot to the heart.
Fuck…
“Gotcha…”
His voice is barely above a whisper, so low and soft I wouldn’t have heard it if I wasn’t listening for it. Nonetheless, it might as well have been the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.
“So, I’m just your backup plan? Your dream didn’t work out, and you happened to have this pact that we conveniently made with a household condiment as kids in your back pocket, so…here you are?”
Ouch…
Ewan Hayes has always been a man of few words. He chooses each one carefully, waiting for just the right moment to deliver them, and when he does, boom. Just like now.
Each one is a double-edged sword, dripping with both torment and venom. Making sure that I know how much he’s hurting, and inflicting it right back.
“Ewan, you are not a backup plan.”
You never were…
Tears prick the corner of my eyes, panic rising in me as I try to find a way to tell him everything I’ve wanted to since that moment after college. The one where I stupidly looked at him and told him that if he didn’t want to go with me, I’d go alone. And then did.
The moment I took a risk and picked wrong and have been paying for ever since.
How do you tell someone that walking away from them is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made?
“I gotta go,” Ewan says, nodding and pushing past me.
“What?”
I spin on my heel, moving so fast I make myself dizzy for a second. I look down at the to-go bag, then back up at his backside as he walks toward the door.
“I thought we were having lunch?”
“I have Munch,” he calls over his shoulder.
“You have what?”
He stops at the door, sighing heavily. He flexes his hands around the doorjamb, turning to me, his eyes so full of hurt.
“Munch.” He swallows hard, as if he’s trying to stop himself from saying something. “I’m sure Dennis would like the burger. He’ll eat pretty much anything you put in front of him.”
Another nod, and he’s gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the room, alone.
So much for kismet.